<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Conversations in the Kitchen by dearxalchemist</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139903">Conversations in the Kitchen</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearxalchemist/pseuds/dearxalchemist'>dearxalchemist</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>when we drop the masks [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Justice League &amp; Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cooking, Established Relationship, F/M, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:48:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,228</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139903</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearxalchemist/pseuds/dearxalchemist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you staying for dinner?” She asks, moving to grab a bulb of garlic next. Helena works through her tension with the knife, cutting through more vegetables and herbs to garnish the dish she’s cooking up in her own head while waiting for him to tell her why he’s avoiding sleep again. </p><p>He stays leaning over her counter, watching her work with his head tilted to one side, watching the way she moves with careful precision and carelessness all at once with her fingers too close to the blade, “If you want me to.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Helena Bertinelli/Vic Sage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>when we drop the masks [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138649</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Conversations in the Kitchen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/DX5536/gifts">DX5536</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s  a clattering of utensils on the old countertop. She bangs the cutting board down next, anger radiating in every action she makes in her kitchen. Helena felt the stress sitting on the back of her neck, bearing down on her bones, reminding her that she sucked at balancing a normal life with that of a masked one. School hours, parent-teacher-meetings, and back alley brawls didn’t really coexist well and she was coming to terms with just that as she reached over her ancient stove, cranking the dial over to warm up the oven. The appliance hummed softly and she moved back to her counter, pulling a knife out of the wooden block and holding it up just to eye-level, inspecting the blade’s integrity before the flash of movement reflected in the shiny surface caught her attention of a stranger sliding into her apartment.</p><p>“I gave you a key.” </p><p>The statement is more of a frustrated sigh, followed up and punctuated with a shake of her dark head as she pulled the vine covered tomatoes onto the board for dicing. </p><p>“Your halls have a lot of traffic.”  He seems unbothered by her sighing as usual, moving through her place as if he owns it. Stepping out of his shoes, Vic puts them by the door next to all of hers. His orange socks kissing the carpet as he shuffles to pull his hat off next. A dusting of snow rains down over where he was standing. Gotham was knee deep in winter, a stark change from his own Hub City but he didn’t mind. </p><p>“So sneaking up six levels of fire escapes is less obvious?” Helena’s knife cuts the vines free and she goes to work, cutting through the red skin of the tomatoes. </p><p>“For now,” He answers her, mask gone, leaning on the counter farthest from her, elbows down and head up to watch her work. She slows her cutting and glances over her shoulder to see the dark circles under his eyes. He looks as if he hasn’t slept in days, like he’s avoiding it all over again.  </p><p>“Are you staying for dinner?” She asks, moving to grab a bulb of garlic next. Helena works through her tension with the knife, cutting through more vegetables and herbs to garnish the dish she’s cooking up in her own head while waiting for him to tell her why he’s avoiding sleep again. </p><p>He stays leaning over her counter, watching her work with his head tilted to one side, watching the way she moves with careful precision and carelessness all at once with her fingers too close to the blade, “If you want.”</p><p>“You don’t have to eat here.” She holds the knife up with balance pointing it back at him, “You came into my window remember?” </p><p>“Would you like me to leave?” </p><p>She exhales heavily and her voice comes out a little too sharp as she replies, “Did I say that?” </p><p>He goes for truth as always, never one to dance around the obvious. “You seem, upset.”</p><p>“Gee, what gave me away?” She asked, smashing the flat side of her blade down onto another piece of garlic, watching it explode under her strength. The little bulb never stood a chance. Helena moves for a bowl, scooping half of her ingredients in before throwing half into a longer pan for the oven. She moves in her kitchen like a dancer would across a stage. Moving from one cabinet to another, grabbing oils and more seasonings. She vanishes inside her fridge for just a moment before coming out with a container of veal. A sauce pan comes next and she’s browning meat while trying to reach for her other pan, “Will you get that for me?”</p><p>Vic stays still for a moment, watching her point at the glass pan for the oven. She has never asked him for help before, not in her kitchen. In previous nights spent together she usually is shooing him out with her spatula in hand, telling him there’s only room for one in her tiny ancient apartment. When she calls his name a second time, he snaps out of his stupor and moves into her kitchen with permission. He moves to hand her the pan, where she throws in about a half cup of some sort of oil atop of the cut vegetables before sliding it into the oven with her hip closing the oven door behind her. </p><p>“What is it?” She asks, watching him stand behind her still, his hands empty now. </p><p>“You rarely ask for help.” He answers her and she tries not to laugh at him. It’s such a universal truth between them, she hadn’t expected him to say it about dinner. In battle of course, she would never ask for help, but this was just her kitchen, just the two of them remembering how to be without masks. The statement is still true no matter how she looks at it. Helena rarely asks for help for anything, she takes on all she can hold then gets frustrated when her body won't let the stress go. She chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment, not wanting to unpack his statement here and now in her kitchen. They have the night, the Bats are out, she can stay inside tonight. </p><p>“It’s just dinner, try.” She moves for a slice of fresh mozzarella and scoops some of her mixture of tomatoes and peppers atop of it. Without warning she turns her back to her stove and pushes the food against his mouth waiting for him to take the bite from her. He freezes, she has never done this before. Helena is just a slight step away, close enough he can smell the faint traces of her perfume leftover from the day, mixing with the garlic on her fingertips. She presses the food closer and he automatically opens his mouth for her.  He takes a small bite before she’s feeding him another, the tips of her fingers brushing his lips and then her thumb is against the corner of his mouth, wiping away the traces of tomato juice, “there…” </p><p>He chews slowly, swallowing hard against her fingertips while watching her. Her olive skin is tinged pink across the tops of her cheeks and her own lips are parted watching him, “It’s good.” He manages to choke out of the words before seeing her smile and it’s the type of smile that makes his chest ache. She doesn’t smile like that anymore, not with the mask on.</p><p>“That’s just the first course,” She lets her fingers slide over the line of his jaw.</p><p>“You’ve made more?” He searches behind her, looking at her stove then letting his eyes roam around the rest of the small vintage kitchen.</p><p>She rolls her eyes and her flirty façade falls away with a laugh as she turns back to her stove. She is shaking her dark head gently, “I meant dessert…in bed.”</p><p>Realization dawns on him and he clears his throat, the detective in him finally connecting all the dots she gave him, “Of course.” </p><p>“Of course.” Helena mimics him playfully before going back to cooking, she glances back over her shoulder to see him blushing and leaning back against the kitchen island, eyes trained up to her ceiling and her big smile returns once more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is 100% for @asktheimperishabletrio on tumblr who is an absolute dream artist and drew the piece that inspired this.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>